


A Small Thing

by helenagray



Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: Baby!Fic, F/M, Implied Sexual Content, JCtropes ficfest, Tropes, after Resolutions, oh yes they did, picking-daisies-in-the-outfield, warning: references to abortion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-27
Updated: 2020-03-27
Packaged: 2021-03-01 07:00:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23347330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helenagray/pseuds/helenagray
Summary: New Earth is light years away but not forgotten. Kathryn and Chakotay adjust to life back on Voyager and confront some truths about their relationship.My submission for the 2020 @JCtropes ficfest!***************************************
Relationships: Chakotay/Kathryn Janeway
Comments: 12
Kudos: 68
Collections: Janeway/Chakotay Trope fics





	A Small Thing

It was such a small thing.

By day, it didn’t really exist. Meetings, decisions, reports; they obliterated it. Rendered it meaningless and impossible.

Late-day hours and the duties of captain — there was always something to be done. It was necessary; they’d lost so much time.

If he noticed her overwork, he didn’t let on. He’d been keeping plenty busy, too.

The questioning glances of those first few days returned had been eroded by the flow of routine. Everything was as it was before. She willed it so. 

But even she had to sleep sometimes, and in the quiet darkness of the small hours — tasks spent — tiny, meaningless things became large and all-consuming; sleep, illusive.

_Tomorrow she would take care of it._

That it was the tenth day she’d made the silent promise was not lost on her, but there would be no sleep until she resolved that _this time_ it would be different.

# # #

He was saying something, but the words were foggy and she wasn’t sure anymore, what the conversation was about. Why he was here.

On autopilot, she called for coffee. Her alertness startled when he walked over to the replicator and grabbed it for her.

She accepted the cup and waved her other hand in a small arc, a gesture that was part apology, part self-recrimination.

“I’m sorry,” she said, pausing to breathe in the steam. “I’m just…tired.”

She chanced a glance at him, and of course he was studying her. Scrutinizing. For a moment, she was sure he _knew_ and panic flared, but then he nodded and she breathed again.

“You’ve been working a lot of hours, Kathryn. Maybe you should take a break.”

She managed a tight smile and a small nod, hoped it would satisfy him. But a silence settled between them, then grew a bit too large.

“You know…” he began, and she shifted, bracing for his inevitable, if gift-wrapped, directness. “We used to enjoy time together. _Here_.” He opened his arms, gesturing at _Voyager_ , the place. “Dinners, the holodeck… I can’t help but notice that we haven’t done any of that since we got back from New Earth.”

“I’ve been so busy,” she said automatically — too quickly and too absent of thought for him to let slide.

“I miss you, Kathryn.”

(Of course he went right for the gut.)

She avoided his gaze and tried to think of something to say — anything but how she missed him, too.

He shook his head, moved to one of the chairs in front of her desk and sat. He let out a breath and leaned forward slightly. _“I don’t mean like that…”_

(A beat, firm.)

“Well, yes, I do mean _like that_ — I’m always going to miss that, Kathryn. But I know…I know what we agreed. And I will honor your wishes. Always.” (A breath in…out; resolute.) “But — I didn’t agree to give up our friendship.”

Flight instinct, maybe — exhaustion most definitely — but she didn’t want to have this conversation right now. So she did the only thing she could think of to stop it.

“You’re right, Chakotay.” She sipped at her drink, bidding the hot liquid return her to neutral, in charge, same old… “Let’s plan something.”

His surprise was plain — he’d expected excuses, several rounds.

“Really?” He paused but closed it quickly, as if afraid she’d change her mind if he gave her an opening. “Okay, Kathryn. That sounds great. How about tomorrow evening?”

Dread welled, but she smiled against it, her face tight. “Sure.”

He smiled — that too-broad, genuine smile of his — and she felt awful.

“I’m so glad, Kathryn,” he said — and did his smile actually get bigger?

He sprang up from the chair and made for the door, plans no-doubt already forming in his head. Whatever work-related thing they’d been talking about earlier was apparently sidelined. She was glad.

“See you at the briefing,” he called, looking back as the doors hissed open.

She gave a small wave, taking in the narrow view of the bridge as he exited. The sounds that trickled in — everything in order; routine the rule of the day — were comforting. But the feeling was fleeting, ending as quickly as the doors closed, sealing the literal and symbolic wall that separated her from everyone else. 

# # #

She was halfway to Sickbay when she turned down another corridor, heading nowhere-in-particular with purpose. She cursed herself; this wasn’t acceptable behavior.

But, it wasn’t exactly an acceptable situation, was it?

The procedure was simple. Fast. No downtime, no side effects. _Easy_. Afterwards, everything would return to normal. _And yet._

She found herself outside of holodeck 1, her unknown destination revealed.

She called up her program _Florence 2,_ then stepped inside to the Piazzale Michelangelo, wide and empty of other visitors, as prescribed.

She crossed the mezzanine, statue on her right, then sat down on the farthest bench, a sweeping view of the rich, industrious city sprawled out in front of her.

She hoped it would provide some answers.

# # #

Whatever Florence had bequeathed her yesterday, her head felt clearer today; and she, more resolute.

Standing outside of Chakotay’s quarters, her plan was firm. And it had given her a reason to go through with their evening instead of cancelling as she’d intended. 

He welcomed her happily, stepping aside to admit her into his space, and she held fast to her strength, wavering _only slightly_ as she realized she’d not been in his quarters since… _before_. Startling _only slightly_ as she felt his hand on her back, guiding her to the table.

“Before we eat,” she said, pulling away from his hand and turning to face him. “I need to talk to you about something."

His face was calm — a reminder that he would and could go through anything with her. And, she thought, shoring up her resolve — he would understand _this_.

He gestured to the couch below the windows, and they sat.

Silence settled, but it was not uncomfortable.

After a moment, she turned, took a breath, and shared with him the _small thing_ that had been impacting her life so much over the past weeks. The fatigue, her overwork…the way she had been avoiding him. _This_ was why. And it had been eating her up inside, the thought of not telling him. Of… _taking steps_ without him ever knowing.

“I’m pregnant, Chakotay.”

She looked at him fully, and then nearly broke as she took in the sudden, unadulterated _affection_ , written so plainly across his face. She had to look away.

“The doctor says it’s a simple procedure. But I wanted you to know, before I…” She faltered slightly on those last words. Had to take in a deep breath to recenter herself.

When she managed to meet his eyes again, they were wide. Affection replaced with...shock?

“Well, I can’t very well have a child out here,” she said — the gospel as she knew it. “So, I’ll visit the doctor tomorrow. Take care of it.”

She knew better than to think it was the end of the conversation, but she wasn’t expecting what came next.

“You can’t,” he said. “Please…you…you _can’t_ do that, Kathryn,” and his voice…trembled?

She realized he was struggling for control, that his jaw was clenched, muscles firing. She reached a hand out. “Chakotay, I’m sorry… I…just thought it was the right thing, to tell you.”

“The… _right thing_ …” He drew away from her sharply, flipping her hand away, and stood up. “Please, I…” he was shaking his head. “I…need a moment.” And he strode away from her without a second glance, disappearing into his bedroom, a wall again between them.

Stunned (or not — not _really_ ), Kathryn folded her hands in her lap and stared at the wall, uncertain her next move. She wanted to be done with thinking about this. With being _consumed_ by it. And…she was hungry. She glanced over at the table longingly.

This wasn’t what she’d planned.

Minutes passed.

She wanted to go to him.

She wanted to leave.

# # #

Back in her quarters, Kathryn’s spaghetti had gone cold.

She thought she’d probably sat on Chakotay’s couch for a solid hour. Maybe more.

Twice, the smallest noises from his bedroom had sent her to her feet, hopeful (for what, she wasn’t sure). But he didn’t come back out. And she wasn’t going to force him.

Spaghetti had sounded good — she’d been so hungry sitting there, staring at their uneaten dinner; tempted, even, to eat some of it before she left — but her appetite had withered the moment she sat down in her own quarters, replicated pasta before her.

She was… _awful_.

Oh, she’d talked up a good game. That _telling him_ was honorable. _Considerate._ That it was the _opposite_ of selfish.

Last night, as she resolved to get her life back on track (for real this time), she’d decided the only way out was to treat the situation like any of the many other problems she solved on a daily basis. That _that_ was what was ultimately required of her, as a captain responsible for over a hundred lives. She’d come clean about the issue, then take care of it.

But…what did she _honestly_ think would happen when she told Chakotay? Had some part of her _truly_ believed he’d agree with her assessment? _Or?_

_Or…_

Unbidden, her thoughts went to New Earth — the planet itself now light-years away. The memories she could normally will away, dismiss under the cloak of duty and discipline, came hard and fast, enveloping her with force. Her eyes fell closed as her senses came alive, remembering.

She could _smell_ the grass. The trees. The moisture in the air. _(His body, wrapped around hers.)_

She could _feel_ the warmth of those summer evenings — and the contrasting coolness of the river when they immersed in its depths.

And that night — the first night. When they became something new.

She had laughed, jumping into the water — joy, even as her heart raced. Bliss, even as she was still mourning the loss of the life she had known.

She normally swam alone — he’d always given her that space — but that evening she’d invited him along.

It had been over two weeks since her scientific work was destroyed beyond repair, and after many days turned inward — long walks in solitude, shared meals missed — she’d emerged from that first wave of grief to find her heart shifted, as sure as the ground had already moved and changed beneath her.

 _It’s going to take time,_ she’d told him over dinner; dining with him for the first time in several days. _But…I’m…so grateful…for the life we’re building here._

Later, beneath the light of the planet’s largest moon, half full, cool water against their skin, she had reached for him.

_How he had loved her there, in those last weeks._

It was jarring, coming back to this life after she had truly begun to let it go, but muscle memory, the rhythms of old routines were ultimately easy to call upon once they were back on _Voyager —_ clad in their uniforms for the first time in many months; the crisp structure of Starfleet all-weather firmly usurping the freedom of summer linen and bare skin.

It was what duty required. _And now it required…_

Scientist, captain — even still, she couldn’t attach the words.

It was just a small thing. A tiny, unintended product of their lives, woven together as they were so completely on the planet. Where she’d found a freedom she’d never quite believed in before. Where she’d loved, was loved in a way that was somehow completely new. Where she’d been…

_Happy._

She sat with that thought for a moment. Actually allowed it.

It wasn’t that she was _unhappy_ on _Voyager_ — hell, she’d spent most of their time planetside working furiously to get them back here. She wanted to be here — _but…_

But…the _absence_ was palpable. The _lack_. It was an ache in her chest that never completely went away, sometimes stealing her breath and pulling her shoulders down.

She could tell herself a million times over that she’d simply given in to the place, to the moment, to isolation, to her body — that she’d not been her true self, absent the normal framework of her life. But the truth, when she really reached for it, was that she _wanted_ what she’d had on the planet. What they’d had. _What they would have had_.

Everything that was there, that could never be here.

Now, there was nothing to do but accept the loss and move on. _This_ was her life; her responsibility. It was bigger than she was, and there could be no “indulging” when so many people were counting on her.

And yet…

Tears flowed freely then. She’d learn to live with it, like she always had, but tonight, she wept. For what was and what could never be.

# # #

When she woke, she was under blankets in her own bed. She couldn’t remember ending up there, but it had been a very draining evening. She let out a long breath as recollection filled her.

She called for the time — middle of the night still — and then pulled the covers up higher and rolled over onto her side. She stilled and felt… _strange_. Something wasn’t right, and —

She shrieked and sat straight upright, startled by the shadowy presence she’d suddenly laid eyes on, sitting low against the wall near her bed.

“Sorry…I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

She recaptured her breath. “How did you get in here?”

He shrugged, his shoulders rising perceptively against the wall. “You didn’t answer the door. I was worried.” He tilted his head in the direction of the other room. “You were asleep at the table.”

The realization dawned — that he’d carried her in here, tucked her in.

She pushed the covers down and turned to face him, hugging her knees to her chest. She started to speak — fumbling for words — but he cut her off.

“Please just listen for a moment.”

She acquiesced with a small nod; gave over to silence.

He sat up a little straighter, slid away from the wall.

“More than anything, Kathryn, I want you to be happy.”

She knew better than to try and speak when he paused, but as he eyed her, it was clear he’d been expecting her to interject — was prepared to stop it — and it maybe threw him a little bit, that he didn’t have to.

He let out a breath, refocusing. “I would do anything for that happiness, Kathryn. I think you know that. I will support whatever choices you need to make, to be happy.”

She braced for the inevitable _exception_ — but it didn’t come.

“I think…when we were together on New Earth…you were happy. At least, I hope so.”

He looked up at her and she realized he was waiting for an answer. “I…I was.” Her voice was only slightly above a whisper, low, as she spoke those words that felt so forbidden.

“Can I ask you something?”

To her nod, he said, “if we were still on New Earth, would you have the baby?”

A breath, and she nodded again, not trusting herself to speak.

“Then — this is ridiculous, Kathryn!” Too loud — he pushed himself away from the wall and rose to his knees. “There’s no _truly_ good reason that just because we’re _here,_ we have to pretend that there’s nothing between us but an officers’ friendship. That we haven’t built something else. That we didn’t create life together! That we didn’t…”

In the faint light coming from the ship’s exterior lights, she could see his eyes glisten. “That we don’t love each other,” he finished.

Her heart pounded in her ears as she watched him, paralyzed.

“Tell me none of it was real. Tell me you feel nothing for me. Tell me you’re _horrified_ at the thought of having my child — _then okay._ I’ll let you go. I’ll treat our time on New Earth as an anomaly. Two lonely people, looking to pass the time. But, you know what I think?” He moved closer to the bed, still kneeling. “I think that’s bullshit, Kathryn. I _know_ you better than that. I know your heart. It _wasn’t_ an anomaly. I know I told you I would honor your wishes — and I will, if they are your _true_ wishes. But I don’t believe it. I don’t believe you don’t want this!”

He stood up then, rising to tower over her, his profile in the dim light so familiar, so close, the ache in her heart twisted into a sharp pain that took her breath away. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t love you — all of you — in every way that I can. Give me one good reason the life that _we made_ shouldn’t get to exist!”

She choked back a sob as his eyes searched hers, firm and fiery. She wanted to flee. To hide. To push him away. She needed space…time. _Something!_

He seemed to read her unease; took a step back. Sighed.

Kathryn forced air into her lungs — closed her eyes and tried to focus on the steady, gentle hum of the engines below them. _Breathe_.

After a moment, she looked back at him — tried to clear her throat; sat up straighter and lowered her legs. “Chakotay, I…I don’t know how to _do this_ , if…” She tried again. “I don’t know how to be what I _must be_ for this crew, if we allow ourselves to — ”

“Then...let’s look at these things separately.” He sat down on the bed, a comfortable distance away. “I shouldn’t have lumped them together — our relationship, and…the baby.”

She shook her head, her shoulders slumping. “No. _No…_ They _are_ together. I couldn’t separate those things if I tried.”

He regarded her for a moment, brow knit in thought.

“You know, I did some research.” He paused until her eyes blinked over to his, questioning. “Captain Rachel Wells. Captain Anahren Polano.”

He paused again, to see if she knew what he was driving at, and then, to her narrowed eyes —“Both became mothers while captaining their ships. While _s_ _uccessfully_ captioning their ships. On mission in deep space.”

“Well, we’re in deeper space than anyone, and —“

“All the more reason!”

He ran a hand through his hair; sighed. “Kathryn…don’t sacrifice today. Don’t sacrifice yourself. You deserve happiness. To live your life fully. Even here.”

She drew in a breath. Released it.

“And, frankly…if anyone can do this, it’s you. You’re stubborn as hell, you move the world with the force of will, you….get things done, Kathryn.” He hoped he’d intoned some humor; smiled lightly at her, but she tilted her head to stare in the direction of the wall. 

“Do you want me to resign?”

She turned back sharply — glared at him. “What?”

“Resign. I could resign.”

“No… What?”

“If it meant I could be with you. Love you. Raise a child with you. I would gladly resign my position as your first officer. Though…I think we make a great team there, too…”

She pressed her lips together tightly — would have almost been a smile, on any other day.

“Kathryn…" He paused, clearly collecting his thoughts. Shifting his focus. "When we left New Earth, returning our relationship to what it was _before_ felt simple. Painful as hell, but simple. Less to explain, less to account for. But I thought — there’s no way it’ll be forever. What we had was too meaningful. Too _immense_. I told myself, comforted myself with the idea that we’d come back to it gradually. Once we were comfortable on _Voyager_ again.”

He shifted and slid closer to her; captured her gaze and held it, beckoning her to hear his words clearly. “We’re having the conversation earlier than I’d planned. And under different circumstances. But I think we have a darn good reason to jump ahead.” He reached for her hands. “Kathryn, can’t we try? Sure, it’ll mean certain changes. Weathering certain reactions…balancing our lives on the bridge and here in your quarters, or mine. But…since when did we shy away from a challenge?”

He searched her face, hopeful. Earnest. “I love you. That will never stop. Tell me…tell me what you need. Tell me what would make you happy.”

His hands were warm and firm around hers. It was comforting. _Grounding_. She wanted the rest of him near her, his arms around her… She wanted to fold into him, breathe him in, feel his warmth.

She wanted…

_(Since when did we shy away from a challenge?)_

What was she so afraid of? 

_(I know your heart...)_

She needed...

She cleared her throat; her voice was low: “I think…we would have to establish…some parameters.”

Her eyes were large, lips turned upward gently, when she looked at him. 

And then he kissed her, twisting and leaning over clumsily — throwing a hand onto the bed to steady himself. She startled but didn’t pull away. And then she kissed him back.

After a moment, he drew back and looked at her, hoping to see the relief of resolution on her face.

It wasn’t quite there yet. Not really. But the muscles of her face were more relaxed, and he could see _just a touch_ of a familiar look in her eyes. She seemed to notice him _noticing_ — knew that she wouldn’t be able to hide from him, the wave of warmth and desire that had come with his touch — and snickered lightly on an exhale. Then, more seriously —

“This has to be…professional. Out there.”

“Of course.”

Worry lined her face. “What will _they_ think?”

His reply came easily. “Our crew — our friends — will be glad for your happiness, Kathryn.”

“And…” She drew her hands to her midsection, looked down at them and then back at him, fear in her eyes.

He swallowed a sudden lump in his throat. “Since when has uncharted territory scared us…or this crew?”

She nodded, suddenly unable to speak.

He reached and hand out, brushed the side of her face, then held her chin, tilted it up a bit. The message, wordless, was clear.

“I love you…” 

It was enough.

_It was everything._


End file.
